Photo by Taras Khimchak
Because I love Radiohead and Bjork and Sigur Ros and Avicii, AND because I tend to write to really loud music, AND because in my novel sirens sing real songs, OH, AND because I'm a first time novelist and didn't know any better, I was smart enough to integrate several of my favorite song lyrics into dialogue in Draft 4. Wrong. At some point, while wrapping up Draft 4, it hit me. Wait a second. Maybe I can't really use somebody else's lyrics in my book. After all, I didn't write them, somebody else did. Maybe I should figure out if I can use them or not. A quick question posted online got we swarmed with other writer's responses: "No, you can't. You'll have to license them. But you can use an artist's name and song name." Great, I thought, how the hell would I get a hold of Radiohead or Bjork? That's going to be a disaster. Here is what happened:
It took me 2 weeks to get hold of Radiohead. I first tried tweeting to them @Radiohead, no luck. I went to their site and Googled all kinds of articles until I found out that their manager's name is Brian Message. After that, I got a hold of two people through Twitter from companies he works with: Music Managers Forum and Featured Artists Coalition. They forwarded my licensing request for CREEP lyrics to Brian Message. Within two days, he got back to me! It turns out, it's not the band or their manager who gives permission for lyrics use, it's the band's publisher. So I got rerouted to them (Warner / Chappell Music). It took another week of back and forth e-mails, until I got a Sync Licensing Form to fill out. Here are juicy details (after it took me forever to figure them out):
It would cost me $669.10 to use Creep lyrics. If I sell 10,000 copies of my book in the course of 1 year, in print / e-book / audio formats (3 media), it would cost me £416.68 in licensing fees (this is an estimate). I can ONLY use one song, Creep, only once in the manuscript, and I would have to renew the license for the next year, or if I wanted to add any other media format, or if I decided to sell anywhere else but US. Also, I would have to send the final manuscript to the publisher's writers for approval, and if I decided to change even one letter, I would have to start all over again. So, guess what, it's doable! The problem was, I wasn't sure how exactly I would end up using the lyrics in later drafts, and I don't have £416.68 (or $669.10).
Here is how I integrated Creep lyrics into dialogue in Draft 4:
I prop myself on knees and hands, sliding on wet tiles, lift my head and look at him.
“What you don’t understand, Ailen, this is not a game. This is real.” Daddy says in momentary silence.
I hear the fizzing of erupting water, see his pink polo shirt turn wet and reddish. Remorse floods me with such force, I stand and stumble. I’m on a roll.
“I want you to notice…
“When I’m not around…
“You’re so fucking special…
“I wish I was special…
“Where do you think you’re going?” Daddy asks. I realize I made a step towards the exit, where a breathless crowd is transfixed. I catch myself in the mirror. The reflection looks scary, a bleached version of Ailen with translucent skin devoid of color, a choke of pasty matted hair, unnaturally blue eyes, bluer than Hunter’s rain jacket hanging loose on my shoulders. A grimace of a sea monster. Ghostly beastie. How is this supposed to be charming?
“But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo…
“What the hell am I doing here?
“I don’t belong here…
“Ohhhh, Ohhhh…
“This is the fourth time today, Ailen. And I don’t think you’re going anywhere. I think you’re going home.” He aims at me, standing amidst incapacitated sirens. They’re breathing but not moving. Hunter crawls from under the stall ramble, dust stuck in his hair.
“Hunter!” I lean forward.
The fog recedes enough for the mob to break onto the scene. I decided I was going to leave him, then why is this so hard? I know I have seconds left. I want to finish my song before I go.
“She’s running out the door…
Daddy shoots and misses. I drop on the floor, ignore the ringing pain.
“She’s running…
I slide across the wet tiles leaving a trail with my butt. He shoots again, misses again.
“She run, run, run, run…
“Ruuuuuun.”
I glide behind the partition of the restroom, towards the open frame of the tall window, ajar. The sweetness of the rain greets me. I pull myself up on the windowsill.
“RUUUUUUN!”
I hoist myself, slink into the opening and drop twelve feet down.
It took me 3 months to stop being afraid and write my own lyrics. Ever since I got the estimate from Radiohead, I kept thinking what would happen if I decided to use Bjork's lyrics too. How long would it take me to get hold of her? If my time would be eaten up by getting hold of artists instead of writing, I'll never get my novel finished. Hence an idea was born, to make Ailen, my main character, a fan of a fictional band called SIREN SUICIDES, and make up songs myself (in my book, sirens eat people's souls by singing them out). This weekend I bit the bullet and decided to do it. I barricaded myself in my writing corner and listened to Bjork and Radiohead and other artists for hours, read their lyrics, and then, singing aloud to some of their songs, started writing. Surprisingly, it didn't feel difficult. Once I got the rhythm, it felt like flying. 4 songs resulted from that effort, and by the end of the weekend I felt drained. Because many of you asked to see the main siren song, the one which converts Ailen into a siren, here it is:
We live in the meadow
But you don't know it
Our grass is your sorrow
But you won't show it
Give us your pain
Dip in our song
Notes afloat
Listen and love
Listen and love
Listen and love
We wade in the lake
Why do you frown?
Our wish is your wake
Why do you drown?
Give us your soul
Breathe in our song
Words apart
Listen and love
Listen and love
Listen and love
We stir up your hope
Calm down and let go
Our love is your slope
Slide here, don't forego
Give us your life
End in our song
Because you
Listen and love
Listen and love
Listen and love
So, there you have it. Let me know what you think. Since this is my first attempt at writing lyrics, I'm dying to know your opinion.
Photo by Noukka Signe